Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Dim Hope

She had been only on the earliest brink of the changes to
womanhood. She had never even seen her menstrual flow, but the boy in the
village wanted to have sex, so she agreed. He pushed his frame onto her
childlike bony frame. That is what had started all the pains. Months later, at
twelve years old she lay pushing in the darkness for days. Finally, after the
seemingly endless labor, the family made it down the lengthy footpaths out of
the bush to a distant health clinic. A clinician with minimal training cut open
her belly and released the dead baby from the tiny pelvis which had become its
prison. Her family’s dread turned to a bit of hope that maybe the girl would
live.

And live she did. But life became much more complicated. Just
after the surgery, urine and stool both leaked though the incision on her
abdomen. Foul odor and discolored drainage from the urine-feces mix stained
clothes day after day. She was sent back to her village, where it continued for
a full year. Then, finally the wound on her belly healed, the dirty leaking
through the incision stopped. Her bowel movements returned to normal. But the
urine did not. Now, she began urinating constantly through the vagina. Whatever
injury to the urinary tract that had been, managed to find a different method
of exit. Still, it was better than the prior, at least the stool had stopped.
Years went on, time continued. For seven years she stayed in the village,
smelling of urine, and dripping all around.

Finally, she came to the hospital. I wish I could say that all got
better, and she left with a smile. But that isn’t the way it went. Some initial
blood work showed that she had HIV. Further tests and examination revealed that
it wasn’t a new, mild case, but full-out AIDS. Her health was terrible. In a
few moments, her world had once again worsened tremendously. She thought her world
had fallen apart long ago, but now even the intact threads seemed to be
shredding.

I got some initial tests for the urine problem. It was still her
heaviest burden - the plague that she felt the most, and the trail of urine
that others could see and judge. The HIV at least was not known as soon as she
entered a room. She hoped for a cure for the chronic leak. I examined inside
her pelvis, noting that its full development had been stunted by the pregnancy,
now many years ago. My finger felt bones like that of a normal ten year old
girl. She could barely endure the pain of the exam.

We sat down to talk, not of immediate satisfaction, but a lengthy
process. First, she needed months on medications to fight the newly diagnosed
virus that was ravaging her body. The chance of healing would be low if we
decided to operate before her overall health was improved. However, even
getting the medications was not an easy task to manage, since the closest place
to obtain the necessary medications is a two day walk from her village. But
determined, she agreed to make the journey monthly for the drugs. Then, we
needed more imaging studies of the urinary tract to make sure we knew exactly
where the defect was that was causing the urine loss. These costs were beyond
her means, but thankfully the missionary who had brought her to the hospital
agreed to help cover the hospital’s costs. Lastly, she had to understand that
the repair would be difficult, and depending on what we found when all of the
information was put together, I may need to wait for a specialist to come with
more expertise than I have. She understood. Resolution to her condition wasn’t
a magic tablet that could affect a quick fix, but it was a glimmer of hope.

But a glimmer is important when the rest of the
world is caving in so awfully dark. In the midst of pain, filth, rejection,
scars, odors, drips, disease, despair – a glimmer starts to grow. And maybe one
day it will burst into flame with some beautiful light. Life has been too hard.
At least now there is a little, tiny ray of light peaking through that days may
get better, and wrongs may be right. Maybe one day she will shine like “a city
on a hill”, or a “lamp on a lamp stand”, giving light even for others to see. But
for now it is only the smallest little speck, the tiniest little ray buried
inside her. I hope that her soul will begin to find rest and comfort as we
begin to care for her body. I hope that her burdens are a bit lighter, as she
begins to know that others do care and want to help. For now, it is our job to
bring our lights to her, to bring hope into her darkness. It has been too hard
for too long.